Hurrying toward her, I shove Evans out of my way and follow her through the lobby to the main entrance. When I reach her, she’s standing alone under the awning, looking angry and lost.
“Where’re you going?”
“What do you care?” she snaps.
Her tone is unexpectedly irate. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You should go back in there,” she says, waving me away. “I’m sure Davina is waiting, and you seemed to enjoy flirting with her.” She gives me an accusing look. “I don’t mind. I just don’t want to sit there and endure being harassed by someo
ne who hates your guts.”
Damn Sinclair. “What did Sinclair say to you?”
“Who cares? I’ve already forgotten.” There’s hurt in her eyes when she looks at me. “Like everything else about you, it’s really none of my business.”
So that’s what she’s mad about. Well, I’m not going to apologize for keeping some things to myself. “Fine,” I tell her. “You want to leave, let’s go.” I call for the limo, and on the drive back to the Rosemont, she remains on her side of the car, silent.
This is not how I planned our evening, but she has no right to be angry with me for keeping my problems to myself.
I’m not going to apologize for that.
Even though, for some reason I can’t explain, I want to. I want to apologize and open myself up to her.
Which makes no sense. Soon, she’ll walk right out of my life into whatever she has waiting for her.
In fact, she seems almost ready to do that right now.
Once we’re inside the suite, she ignores me, heading straight for her room.
My voice stops her. “Rachel.”
She turns to face me. “What?”
“Look, whatever Sinclair said to you…I’m sorry. I’m the one he hates, not you, and he really doesn’t matter.”
That’s not the apology she wants, and I know it. She glares at me. “Yeah…and neither do I, neither does this…whatever it is we’re doing. It doesn’t matter, because soon, we’ll be back home and it’ll be over. Which is for the best, anyway.”
My temper snaps. “If you’re so eager for it to end, we don’t have to wait until tomorrow.”
“Is that what you want?” Her eyes flash with anger. “Is that why you told me so bluntly how your nightmares are none of my business and then spent the rest of the night flirting with every single socialite in San Francisco?”
I take a patient breath. “First of all, yes, I believe my nightmares are my problem. I’ve dealt with them for twenty years, and to answer your question, I have spoken with people—therapists, doctors, you name it—and they haven’t helped at all. I didn’t ask for your pity, Rachel, and I don’t need it.” She flinches at my words, but I continue. “And I wasn’t flirting with anyone, so there’s no reason for you to be jealous.”
“There’s no reason for me to be jealous,” she throws back at me. “Why would I be? You’re just some guy I’m having sex with, for now.”
Something freezes inside me. “Thanks for clearing that up.”
She shrugs. “It should never have been in doubt,” she shoots back.
“Of course not.” I’m pissed now, angry and jealous, irrationally afraid of losing her and knowing I already have, knowing I never actually had her. “After all, only a few days ago, you were entertaining your ex-boyfriend.” The words are bitter on my tongue. “Were you ironing out your issues? Deciding you’d made a mistake agreeing to come here with me? Arranging how to get back together once this pesky little situation with me was out of the way?”
“Maybe we were.”
“Then you must be a glutton for punishment,” I say cruelly. “Why don’t you go to him now? Pack your bags. My plane will take you to join him wherever he is. You might have to compete with another woman for his attention, but it wouldn’t be the first time, would it?”
Her eyes fill. “Fuck you, Landon,” she hisses then starts to walk away.
I can’t—won’t let her go. With one hand around her waist, I pull her back to me, molding her body to mine.